The Sledgehammer
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: In the summer of 2005, Marine recruit Riley Janssen is a member of Fox Company, 2nd Recruit Training Battalion, Recruit Training Regiment at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island. One day, during a break in training, the Commanding General, a rising star and living legend in the Marines, comes to address the recruits. Set within the sort-of NCIS AU created by Jenny wrens.


**The Sledgehammer**

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**XX**

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**A/N: Talking back and forth with Jenny wrens, and Riley Janssen's reference in "Gibbs' Test" to how he had met Brigadier General Joshua Marshall once before gave me the idea for this story. However, I had a difficult time thinking of how the Commanding General of MCRD Parris Island, a man in charge of thousands of Marines and Marine recruits, would ever personally interact with one of those recruits personally. So I thought some more about another way the two might have briefly seen each other, or at least been in the same room, and this was the result.**

**XX**

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From where he sat frozen in the auditorium seat, eyes locked straight ahead, neither moving nor making a sound, Riley Janssen could hear one of the youngest DIs, Sergeant Owens, talking quietly to another junior Drill Instructor, Sergeant Kelman.

"Hey, Kelman."

"What?"

"You know what Marshall's call-sign is?"

"No. What is it?"

"Sledgehammer. How fucking cool is that?"

Any further comment was halted as the senior NCO of 2nd Recruit Training Battalion, Sergeant Major Brown, bellowed suddenly, "ATTENTION ON DECK! RECRUITS, ON YOUR FEET!"

Several hundred recruits sprang up instantly and snapped to the position of attention, as did everyone else in the room. Striding down the main aisle between the seats was a tall, broad-shouldered Marine in full dress uniform, a gleaming sword strapped to his side.

Medals clinked softly against each other, and as the man reached the first row of seats, turned right, and headed up a small flight of stairs to the polished wooden stage, Riley saw there were so many medals that you couldn't see the left side of Brigadier General Marshall's chest. Light gleamed off his flawlessly-polished black dress shoes, and off the five-pointed silver star he wore on each shoulder.

Riley thought again of the many stories out there, circulating about Joshua Marshall. He'd fought in the Gulf War, in Somalia, in Iraq and in Afghanistan. It was said that he'd thrown his helmet down on top of an enemy grenade and jumped on top of the helmet, that he'd picked up another soon after and hurled it back to kill the men who'd thrown it. That he'd stormed a Taliban position all by himself when his convoy was ambushed in Afghanistan, saving the lives of a platoon of Marines. Legend had it that Josh Marshall was utterly fearless in battle, that his voice could be heard, roaring out commands and encouragement to his Marines, even above the loudest gunfire. His tank company had played a major role in the Battle of Kuwait International Airport in the Gulf War, destroying a force many times larger than his own.

Marshall was a legend in his own time, rising to near-mythical status in the Marines. Even the DIs referred to him with a kind of awe, sometimes just calling him "Sledgehammer." An explosive temper, fiery charisma, and a total lack of personal weakness or hesitation were his hallmarks, and Riley had quickly become terrified of the man just from hearing about him. To cross someone like that would be to invite swift and certain death.

Beneath a head of buzz-cut red hair just starting to turn gray, General Marshall looked out over the auditorium, over the rows and rows of close-shaven heads and nervous young faces. His eyes were perpetually alert, and he gave the impression not so much of a man as a predatory animal only briefly at rest.

The General spoke:

"Good afternoon, recruits!"

"Good afternoon, sir!" the recruits shouted back.

"Jesus!" Marshall exclaimed. "Am I at Parris Island or a funeral home? GOOD AFTERNOON, RECRUITS!"

"GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR!"

"Be seated, recruits." Marshall paused for a moment as the recruits gratefully sat back down, getting the first time they'd had off their feet in days.

"For those of you who don't know me, I am Brigadier General Marshall, Commanding General of Marine Recruit Depot Parris Island. You have volunteered for service in the toughest military force in the history of mankind, and you have done so during wartime. You have chosen the most challenging time possible to try to become a Marine. Our country was attacked on September 11th, 2001 by a ruthless enemy, one that has been fighting in the mountains of Afghanistan and the deserts of Iraq since before any of you were born. These people we are fighting spare no one. They will stop at nothing. They could care less about collateral damage, or the death of innocents as they kill in the name of God. They are the enemy of everyone who believes in freedom, honor, or decency, and you have made the decision to stand up against them, to take your shot at becoming Marines. Whatever your reasons, you being here is a start. Every Marine begins as a recruit, and most Americans never even come this far. You have my respect, recruits."

"On September 11th, I was visiting New York City with my wife and my kids. We were gonna go look out at the city from the top of the Twin Towers, but we never made it. We got stuck on the subway and came up just as dust was filling the streets. The rest of the day's still just a blur. People shouting, crying, calling for help. Sirens, screaming. Dust and smoke billowing everywhere. Me, my family, firefighters, police, other people on the street running toward the Towers, pulling at the rubble. Finding people, pieces of people. Bodies. I never felt so much fucking fury in my life. Even as all of us first on the scene did everything we could to help save lives, my hands were shaking. From anger. I was furious. I was so mad I could barely think. 'They'll pay,' I started thinking. 'Whoever is responsible, whoever did this, I'm gonna _find_ 'em, and I'm gonna _make_ 'em _regret _pulling _this sorry shit_!'"

As he said the last few words, Marshall's voice rose swiftly to a shout. Carried away by the moment, by the incredible force of emotion in the general's words, Riley shouted, "OORAH!" along with a few other recruits. Marshall said nothing in response, but he looked around at each of the recruits who had spoken up. For a moment he locked eyes with Riley, gave him a small nod.

"Everything changed on September 11th. This country and the Corps have been at war ever since, and we will be at war until the job is done. We will find Osama bin Laden, we will kill him, and we will destroy everything he has tried to build, and everyone who has decided to help him. Working alongside every ally who will join us, we will show the world not only the courage, resilience, and fighting prowess of the Marines, but also the compassion, the honor, and the integrity of the Marines. We extend a hand to all in need, we will act as sword and shield for the weak and oppressed, and we will treat everyone who fights beside us with honor and respect. Those of you who survive Parris Island will not live in the simpler times of the first Leathernecks. Your world could not be more different than theirs. But it is our belief, here at Parris Island, that the ideals of the 18th-century Marine Corps are just as important today as they were back then. We believe that the principles that make the United States Marine Corps great are timeless, and that there is no greater friend and no worse enemy than a United States Marine."

"It is your task to prove it."

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**XX**

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**A/N: 9-3-2019.**

**This is one of the shortest stories I have written in a long, long time, but it is no longer than it needs to be. The important thing about writing any kind of work is to start and end when and where it is best to do so. There is only minimal need for setting a particular length or word count, if any.**

**I wrote Brigadier General Marshall's speak off the cuff, more or less, but of course I based it on some things. Lieutenant Colonel Kaznski's speech to his battalion in the events of the 2005 film Jarhead is one source of inspiration, and another is To Manner Born, To Manners Bred, a small but important booklet used at Hampden-Sydney College for decades. Ultimately the words are mine, but they have inspiration from those two sources.**

**All feedback is welcome, so long as it is polite.**


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